


Maybe Sideways

by Rednaelo



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mech Preg, Pregnant Sex, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednaelo/pseuds/Rednaelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re carrying.”</p><p>Whirl lifted his helm again, optic narrowing at the scowl looming over him.</p><p>“The frag I am.”</p><p>“The frag you are, precisely,” Ratchet shot back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Sideways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HallowedHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedHeart/gifts).



> Another story for my lovely follower Tabby! I was really excited to receive this prompt, actually, and I started on it months and months ago. And now it's finally finished! Straight up, this is less plot-oriented and more epithet-y, snapshot moments of those different moments that i think a lot of people enjoy when they read fics about making babies and whatnot. Mostly just fluff. But I hope you enjoy it!!! I really like this OT3...and I liked making them just romantic with each other in their own unique ways.
> 
> Come back to me again if you ever want more stories, I really enjoy writing for you!
> 
> -Bec

“Congratulations.”

Whirl peered up from the datapad that had been stuck under his optic to Ratchet, who stood there, glaring at him just like he glared at everyone else.

“Thanks, I aim to impress,” Whirl said, taking the datapad in one pincer and pulling, holding it at a better angle to read.  “Lemme guess, I broke the record for how many things could possibly go wrong with me and now I’ve got a whole four days to live.”  He doubted it. Ratchet got a little less snarky when his patients were actual for-real dying of real death and there was nothing he could do about it. At this point, Whirl figured he was in the clear but, honestly, even if he wasn’t, it’d been a good last few months.  He could stand to go now if it was time.  The weird push-pull sensations around his spark hadn’t been very comforting, to say the least.

There was definitely something up.

Whirl scanned the datapad to find out exactly what was up and kept an audial open for the doc’s prognosis of how to bring it back down.

“You’re carrying.”

Whirl lifted his helm again, optic narrowing at the scowl looming over him.

“The frag I am.”

“The frag you are, precisely,” Ratchet shot back.  “So, congratulations, it’s twins, splitsparked, two months in.  You keeping ‘em?”

Whirl sat there like an idiot for a good few minutes, silent, baffled, before got to his pedes and pushed Ratchet out of his way.

“There’s no fraggin’ way….” he said, claws clenching tight to the datapad as the boring, super-technical language he scrolled through suddenly started making sense.  Words like ‘gestation’ and ‘prenatal condition’ and ‘embryonic protoform development.’

“Well it turns out you got a spark and a gestation tank and when you put ‘em to use you end up carrying. Who could’ve predicted that happening?” Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest while the frantic rotormech paced the medbay looking like he was about to break the datapad in two.  “Now answer my damn question: are you keeping them?”

Whirl halted and crammed the pad into his subspace.

“Can’t answer that one right now, doc,” he said, going straight for the door as he did.  “Got some thinkin’ to do.”

“Fine,” Ratchet said, turning back to some other bit of work he had to take care of.  “I need to know your decision by tomorrow.  If you’re going to terminate, we need to get it done quickly, for your safety.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, just don’t go spreading it around,” Whirl said as he elbowed the door switch.  Ratchet made an exaggerated scoffing noise and Whirl ignored it.

He walked very slowly down the corridors of the _Lost Light_ , forcing himself to keep his pincers at his side rather than cross them over the glass of his windshield.  He didn’t need to do that. And it was fucking stupid to want to. 

“Slag….”

Whirl came to a stop in the hallway and just leaned against the wall.  No one was around.  Loitering around the medical sector wasn’t really anyone’s idea of a good time.  Especially not this time of night.  They were all at Swerve’s or hanging out on the holodecks or boinking each other’s bolts off.  Which was where Whirl was supposed to be due after his visit to Ratchet.  He hadn’t bothered mentioning his appointment to them.   

Shit, he was in for it now….

Whirl pushed himself up and listed away down the corridor.  How the hell was he going to talk about this?  Should he even bring it up at all? Maybe he should just turn right back down the corridor and tell Ratchet to make everything go away and then, from now on, he’d just keep his chestplates shut.  Never repeat this bullshit ever again….

Maybe…they probably wouldn’t mind it so much if it was either of them carrying.  Whirl’s rotors sputtered in annoyance as he thought about it.  They’d be glowing, either of them.  The ship would be celebrating.

Fuck, he needed a pint to handle this. 

Whirl was three steps from the entrance to Swerve’s when he froze just outside the door as something in his spark fluttered, and he remembered.  He sat down in that spot and stayed still, not bothering to get up until someone – he didn’t bother to look up and find out who – laughed at him for not being able to hold his high-grade.

Whirl left.  He was almost an hour late to meet up with them.

“Why bother,” he muttered to himself, and went back to his habsuite, locking the door and disabling his comms.  

* * *

“Whose are they?” Whirl asked Ratchet as soon as the medbay door opened.

Ratchet raised a browplate at him, crossing his arms.

“You’d know better than I would,” the CMO said blandly.

“There’s two of ‘em I’ve been tooling with, alright? Which of ‘em do the sprats belong to; you can find that out, can’t you?”

“You sparkmerged with both of them?”

“Yeah, but not at the same time.”

“Even so, it’s quite likely that both of them played a part in siring.  Won’t know unless you get them in here to do the testing properly,” Ratchet said.  Whirl hissed in annoyance, his whole helm rolling back on his shoulders.  “Was your decision to terminate hinging on who sired?”

“Frag you, Doc,” Whirl said simply and left.

“It’s your own decision and no one else’s, Whirl,” Ratchet called after him.  Whirl wrapped his arms around his middle and hunched forward a little as he stomped away.  Damn ship was too cold….

The pits of his tanks felt like they were crushing in on themselves and Whirl was all too aware of how hot his spark was spinning.  Last night, unable to sleep, he stood in front of the reflective glass of his window and opened his spark chamber.  And he saw them, the smallest lights nestled close to his spark, hovering within its corona, each connected by a single slip of light.

Thinking about it made the fuel in his tanks roil.  He’d wanted to find the sight disgusting.  But he didn’t.  He stood there and stared and felt warm and thought about the stars outside the window and then sat on the floor and closed his chestplates and forgot what to do with himself.  He didn’t sleep.

“Are you unwell?”

Whirl looked up and found Cyclonus approaching him.  He hadn’t cleared the medical sector yet.  It was only too obvious where Whirl had come from.

Fuck.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Whirl muttered, coming to a stuttering halt before Cyclonus.

“And last night?” Cyclonus continued.  Whirl glanced up at him.  Fragger was as stone-faced as ever.  Crazy how as soon as they got behind closed doors and their panels retracted he turned into such a wild one.  Tailgate too, shit….  They were both nuts.  Whirl wasn’t complaining.  Last night would’ve been great too if he’d actually shown up.  Maybe he really should’ve gone.

“Ate somethin’ funny,” Whirl said.

“You’re lying.”

“So I’m lying.”

“Whirl….”

“Bye Cyclonus,” Whirl said, and sidestepped around him to continue down the hallway.  Only to find that Tailgate was standing a few steps behind, fingers fiddling together in front of his chest.  Whirl halted midstep.  He looked down at Tailgate and those little hands lifted to rest on Whirl’s hips.  It was a familiar gesture; Tailgate had a thing for just holding his big bots by the hips.  Whirl was already softening into those tiny hands; his shoulders slumped as Tailgates bright blue optics gazed up at him.

“’s no big deal, squirt,” Whirl mumbled, lying again. 

“Sure it is,” Tailgate said.  Even though Whirl knew that Tailgate really had no idea what he was talking about, it didn’t matter.  He understood the situation anyway. “I know it’s still hard but you can trust us.  Take your time if it’s scary.  We’re not going anywhere.  Except maybe to Swerve’s.  You wanna get a drink?”

Cyclonus had taken slow, measured steps up from behind Whirl, and then gently curled his own hands around Tailgate’s as where they rested.  Whirl’s spark bumped around in its chamber when Cyclonus pressed his mouth soft against the back of Whirl’s neck.

“Can’t get a drink,” Whirl said, resigned to just ‘fess up.  Yep.  Right there.  In the middle of the hallway.  He might as well; these assholes weren’t too shy about the PDA. Whirl was just along for the ride.  Tailgate was still peeking up at him, helm tilted to one side as he waited for more explanation.  “You guys knocked me up.  I’m carrying sparktwins.”

The silence was the worst.  And in it, all Whirl could think was about fights he started.  Wounds he’d sustained.  Being kicked out of the Wreckers.  How his claws were good for holding blasters and keeping mechs pinned when Whirl needed to threaten them.  And how they felt big and awkward every time he tried to wrap Tailgate in his arms or actually touch Cyclonus with some amount of gentility.  All he could think about was how good he was at kicking ass and taking names and how that actually meant he wasn’t actually good for anything.

Cyclonus squeezed his hands down and Tailgate’s fingers kneaded underneath them.

“Are you serious?” Tailgate asked as Cyclonus decided now was a good time to put a million kisses all over Whirl’s neck.  “You’re carrying?  Ours?  Oh my god….  Whirl, oh my god!”  Tailgate lunged forward but stopped himself almost instantly before impact and instead, very gently, buried himself tight underneath Whir’s canopy. 

“You’re already afraid,” Cyclonus said, his voice low and steady against Whirl’s audial.  Whirl considered elbowing him away but couldn’t find it in him to actually want to go through with it.  “We’re keeping you.  We’re keeping them.  As long as you want them.  We want them too.”

“Oh, Whirl,” Tailgate sighed, pulling back but still holding Whirl’s hips dearly.  “No one would be a better carrier than you, you know?  You’re so strong, you’d never let anyone hurt our bitlets, would you?”

“Sweet talk it up, squirt,” Whirl said, but somehow the affirmation Tailgate gave him was the solution to the ache that had taken up residence in Whirl’s chest.  Cyclonus neverending kisses helped a little bit, too.  “Okay….  So, we’re keeping them?”

“I want to keep them,” Tailgate said, rubbing his whole body against Whirl as he bounced on his toes.

“As do I,” Cyclonus hummed.  His arms wrapped around Whirl and Tailgate both. 

“Should probably go see Hatchet again, then.  Let him know,” Whirl suggested.  Not that he was in any hurry to get out of the middle of this goddamn embarrassment.  He snuggled Tailgate up close to him and leaned back against Cyclonus and ended up sniggering when Tailgate started talking to the sparklings and the vibrations tickled. 

* * *

What Whirl found particularly hilarious was that no one board the Lost Light had any idea who sparked him.  There was apparently even a betting pool posted at Swerve’s.  When Cyclonus asked him about how he wanted to let everyone know, Whirl answered by saying he wanted everyone to drive themselves to nuts and bolts.

“Tell ‘em nothin’. It’s fun to watch.”

“Planning on keeping everything a secret, then?” Cyclonus asked him as he took a seat next to Whirl in the corner booth. 

“Most of ‘em think it was you,” Whirl said.  “They see how you’re always standing so close, puttin’ your paws all over me.  You’re just a huge neon sign blaring ‘I’M THE SIRE’ to everyone.  And then they’re surprised Tailgate isn’t sparked too.”

“He did say he wanted to be next.”

Whirl narrowed his optic at Cyclonus. 

“One damn bitlet at a time, jeez, we’re not startin’ a farm.”

“You already broke your own rule.”

“Hey, look, it’s not my fault the spark split. Plus I’d rather knock you up next, you pointy bastard.”  Whirl leaned over the table, getting up in Cyclonus’ face to press leery waves of lust against him with his field.  “Think you’d look real enticing, all soft and round with newsparks.  Nice thought, huh?”  He scratched one claw gently under Cyclonus’ chin.

“I’ve thought the exact same thing about you,” Cyclonus murmured in return, one hand caressing gently up the front of Whirl’s cockpit.  “I’ll be taking my satisfaction first, unfortunately.”

“Laugh it up, chucklefuck,” Whirl sneered at him and growled half-heartedly when Cyclonus leaned in to kiss him.   “I’ll have you rubbing my pedes when it’s a pain to keep standing.”

“And I will do it.”

“I’d make you.”

“Tailgate would do it too.”

“Shorty would do anything for me if I asked him nice.”

“Of course he would.  He adores you.”

“Uh-huh. And what about you?”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s quite fond of me as well.”

“You’re really not cute.”

Cyclonus slipped his arm around Whirl’s hips and kept him pressed close against his side. All around them, mechs were trying to be subtle about sneaking glances towards them, turning back to whisper their thoughts to anyone who would listen.  Whirl just cackled to himself.  They were all just excited but too afraid to come up and ask questions.  Cyclonus being Unnecessary Guardian was seeing to that.

 Tailgate came trotting up to the table and pushed a big glass of nutrition-enriched energon towards Whirl.

“I picked this stuff up from the medbay earlier.  Ratchet says this’ll be really good for all three of you,” Tailgate reported.  He put a couple of cubes of regular ration-grade onto the table as well.  Apparently, he and Cyclonus had decided that if Whirl wasn’t drinking, they weren’t either.  Tailgate wiggled onto the seat on Whirl’s other side and pressed just as close.  Maybe before, Whirl would’ve nudged them both out of his space but when the sires of his sparklings were close, there was a physical difference to his internal processes.  Like having them near was the only way to really settle himself.  With Cyclonus and Tailgate on either side of him, the sparklings circled Whirl’s spark in a perfect, tranquil orbit.

He drank the enriched energon through one of the most ridiculous fucking curly straws he’d ever seen in his life and reminded himself not to make any weird noises as Cyclonus and Tailgate rested their hands over each other’s on Whirl’s abdominal plating.

“I’m fragging both of you when we get back to the room,” Whirl informed them.

“Take me first,” Cyclonus deadpanned.  Tailgate giggled and smushed his face up against Whirl’s arm in a little nuzzle before going back to his cube.  The gentle orbit sustained and Whirl could feel it linger in the woven digits resting softly on his armor. 

* * *

Whirl was alone when the sparks descended.  Though Tailgate and Cyclonus had offered again, even more insistently, that he could move into their habsuite, he didn’t accept and still wouldn’t. 

“Listen, I need the space.  Not always, but I need it,” is what he had finally told them.  “Even if we get something that looks like permanence to you and me and you, I’m always gonna need it.  Which is also why the tweedles will be spending some nights at your place and not mine after they happen.  Okay? Okay. That’s what’s happening.”

And that was fine with everyone.  So it wasn’t such a surprise for him to be alone when there was suddenly a shifting of his internals.  Whirl had been sitting on the berth with a datapad in his hand, playing an anonymous game of poker with three other chumps somewhere on the _Lost Light_.  Then he lowered the datapad and took a moment to decide that panicking would probably be a useless idea.  The sprats were detaching from his spark and beginning to slip down into his gestation chamber, into the puny little protoforms that were waiting for them. 

“Couldn’ta picked a better time, huh?” Whirl muttered as he braced one arm against the frame of the window and opened his chestplates so he could watch.  The little lights twirled gently away from Whirl’s spark and something about watching them disappear, chasing after one another in a spiral down the aperture at the bottom of Whirl’s spark casing, made Whirl feel like he was losing something.  His spark shrunk down quite visibly.

But then Whirl refocused and the very, very real sensation of the two little lights coming to settle in his gestation tank came to focus.  One after the other, and when he reached with his field, he could feel the tiniest flutters of an answer.  They had made it safely.

The datapad on the berth chimed over and over and Whirl finally cut his losses and left the game, letting the tablet fall to the floor as he climbed back up on the berth and closed his chestplates.  Another wave rolled out, gently, and another answer came back, as frggin’ unnoticeable as a whisper.  Funny what you could hear when you paid attention, though.

Over and over, Whirl asked and greeted and wordlessly reached while he stayed absolutely still.  And every single time, there were two little nudges back.  Yes, and Hello, and they reached back but they were still so small and didn’t even understand the idea of three-dimensional space.

Whirl spent the rest of the night trying to teach them.  It didn’t work but he tried anyway and it wasn’t a waste of his time. 

* * *

“I’m not fighting you while you’re carrying.”

“I know that; I’m not asking you.”

“I’m not letting anyone else fight you while you’re carrying.”

“Which is why I was doing my best to make sure you didn’t even find out.”

“I’m glad to know that this was your best effort.”

Whirl swiped one claw across the surface of the table and everything flew off, crashing to the floor in a chime of broken glass and clattering electronics.

“There.”

Cyclonus simply watched him, doing his perfected impression of a mech who didn’t have a spark to speak of.  Whirl hated his fucking guts.

“I wrecked all your shit.  Doesn’t it make you wanna just flip a table?  Go full-on Prowl when he doesn’t get his way, c’mon, Cyclonus, give in to it.”

“I’m still rather impressed that your best efforts are so unwieldy,” Cyclonus said, taking a few slow steps forward.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Oh, please, Whirl….”

“Cyclonus, I’m just gonna be honest with you: I really wish that I had a mouth right now just for the sole purpose of tearing out of the cables of your neck with my teeth.”

Cyclonus raised a brow plate at him.

“I’d use my claws but I don’t think it would communicate how much I love you,” Whirl added.  “Anyway, bye.”  And then he turned and left, pedes crackling the glass underfoot as he did.  The door slid shut and then he heard it open again because Cyclonus was following him.  Whirl couldn’t figure out if he was happy about it or angry.  Which just made him more angry.

“It’s like I can’t even take a fucking walk without having you stalking me just to let everyone know to ‘keep away oooooh, scary sire will eat you!’”

“You’re inclined to go find someone to goad into sparring with you,” Cyclonus explained, his timbre as low and calm as it ever was.  “Not that I think anyone on the whole ship would agree to such an absurd proposition, but I don’t trust you to keep yourself from physically lashing out if you get frustrated enough.”

Whirl swung around, aiming to strike Cyclonus right across the face with the curve of one pincers.  But instead he was caught, strong claws wrapping around the articulation of his wrist joint.

“Kinda like that?” Whirl asked, optic narrowing in a sneer.  “That would’ve been funny if I got you in the face.  Woulda made me feel better.”

 Cyclonus stepped forward, crowding close until Whirl’s canopy was pressed gently against Cyclonus’ plating.

“There are better,” Cyclonus began in a murmur, “safer, more thorough ways of bleeding off whatever stir-crazy you’ve built up from carrying.”  Whirl jolted in surprise as Cyclonus’ other hand snuck along the inside of his thigh, sharp digits slipping gently between the gaps in his plating.

“Oh my god, you embarrassing heap of scrap, just grope me in the middle of the damn hallway.”

“You were the one who went storming out of the room.”

“You’re still at it,” Whirl said as Cyclonus guided Whirl around so he could press his chest to Whirl’s back.

“I’d prefer privacy, but I had a thought that maybe a grand overture might derail you from your frustration a little better.”

Whirl grunted and rested his helm back against Cyclonus’ shoulder, letting his optic slide shut as both hands caressed the softly growing swell of his abdominal plating.  It was still a small bump, just barely noticeable.  But as soon as Cyclonus touched it, there was a delighted pulse of two little sparks recognizing their sire’s embrace.  Whirl instantly relaxed.

“You suck,” was all he said, and Cyclonus laughed against his neck as he stroked the three of them gently.

“I’ll prove you right if you come to bed with me.”

“Go ahead and threaten me with a good time.”

“You can hate me later.”

“I already do.”

Cyclonus carried Whirl back to the habsuite and Whirl let him, with his arms around Cyclonus’ neck. 

“Mush, sire, mush,” he said, and didn’t miss the twitch of annoyance (amusement) at the corner of Cyclonus’ mouth. 

* * *

Tailgate touched his hands to the gorgeously enormous swell of Whirl’s tummy and wiggled his hips a little, pressing his spike deeper into Whirl’s valve.  Whirl just arched his spinal strut gently and relaxed back against the berth.  It was a pain in the aft to try and move around too much.  Easier to just lay there and let Tailgate play and please him.  They were three overloads in and winding down.  Tailgate traces spirals and zig-zags over Whirl’s baby bump, bending over it to nuzzle.

“They really don’t know what’s happening right now?” he asked for like the zillionth time.  Whirl was too sated and sleepy to care about answering again.

“Nah, they don’t have a concept of interfacing,” he mumbled, enjoying the feeling of transfluid slipping warmly out and slicking his thighs.  “All they know is that you’re near and you’re feeling all lovey and whatever.”  Whirl sent the sparklings a couple of happy-go-lazy pulses and they answered back, just as happily.

“Think if I tried to talk to them, they could hear?” Tailgate asked.  He angled his hips up, grabbing Whirl’s thighs as he pressed and ground against Whirl’s internal node, making him purr and his rotors chuff.

“Mnnghhhh…yeah, probably.”  Whirl shifted his hips a little and _didn’t_ squeak when the movement made Tailgate’s spike press rather insistently against that sweet spot.  “’m surprised you haven’t tried it yet.”

“We’ve been really busy!” Tailgate said and then shivered as he went still, soft gaspy noises filtering through his mask.  Big-O Number Four.   Whirl let Tailgate keep his place until he slumped over, letting the tension go.  Then he knocked the minibot over with a nudge of his knee and Tailgate very contentedly curled himself around Whirl’s tummy, all soft little hands and happy little sounds.  Whirl turned to his side and let his optic close and his interface panels close and his vents gently spool down into a more relaxed overturn.  One arm wrapped around Tailgate’s back and stayed there as Whirl drowsed.

“Are you there, bitlets?” Tailgate asked, and sent out a gentle caress of his field.  He waited.  And then there were two little flutters pushing back.  “Whirl!  Whirl, oh my gosh!”

“Yeah, ‘mazing, innit?” Whirl mumbled.

“What else should I say?”

“Don’t ask me, I can’t think.”

Tailgate gently stroked all ten fingers against Whirl’s stomach and tucked himself snugly under Whirl’s canopy.  It was crowded there now, in Tailgate’s usual spot.  He had to share with the sparklings, at least for a little longer.  But it was a very easy place to share.

“I love you, sweetlings,” Tailgate said, letting his spark reach with the words.  “I can’t wait to see you.  I hope you’re getting big and strong and are healthy and I hope you know how much we all love you.”

“Slow down, squirt, you’re giving them too much, oof….”  Whirl arched his back again.  “Just makin’ ‘em all excited.  Kicky little brats….”

“I can feel them!”

“Yeah, me too,” Whirl groaned.  “Tiny feet right into my fuel tank, yep, yep, it’s super cute, please try not to love the children so much that I upchuck in the next second.”

Tailgate wasn’t sure if he would be able to make good on that promise.  But he figured he could send out nice, soothing waves in an effort to calm the little ones down.

“Come on, pretty babies, be nice to your carrier.  How about a nap, you want a nap?  A nap would be good.”

“Yeah, good luck with that now.”

“Do you ever sing to them?  Has Cyclonus?”

Whirl just snorted and brought his knees up to push Tailgate snugly up against himself. 

“Sparklings should have a lullaby,” Tailgate insisted.

“Go ahead and sing to them if you wanna,” Whirl offered.  “Don’t be surprised when I laugh at you.” 

The only songs that Tailgate knew were the ones that Cyclonus had taught him.  None of them were particularly suited to lulling young sparks to sleep.  But he sang anyway, picked up a familiar tune and made it soft as his spark reached out for its creations in little waves, and even for Whirl’s spark too.  Even though Tailgate was the only one crooning, they four managed a rather lovely harmony and Whirl didn’t laugh once.  He did doze off and take a nap, though. 

* * *

Cyclonus looked surprised when Whirl told Ratchet that he wanted the pain-inhibiting tap.  Tailgate just looked relieved.

“I ain’t got time for it,” Whirl told Cyclonus, and offered no other explanation or context.  But Cyclonus understood.  Whirl only wanted to focus on the sparklings, nothing else.  He knelt next to the medical berth and kept his hands on its surface, nearby if needed.  Tailgate was at the other end, standing behind Ratchet and First Aid, watching with his optics attentive and his arms close to his body, silent.  Doing his best to make sure he could see the birth properly and react at any given moment if he was needed.  Though it was quite obvious he didn’t know what could even go wrong or if it did, what he could even do about it.

He was there anyway.

Outside in the hallway, there were plenty of mechs gathered.  They were locked out, but all waiting, and Whirl could feel the collective hum of their fields, pushing good wishes and hope and excitement towards him as Ratchet attached the tap to the base of Whirl’s spinal strut. 

“It’ll take effect in a few moments,” Ratchet said as he activated the tap and then rearranged Whirl’s legs back onto the rests.  “You’re already well dilated so as soon as you’re ready, you just need to push.”

“Gee, thanks,” Whirl grunted as another contraction wracked him.  And then it just melted away.  “Shit, doc, that’s some good stuff.”

“It does its job,” Ratchet said.  “Take a few breaths.  Let’s get these sparklings out into the world.”

“I’m the one doing all the work here,” Whirl groaned, using Cyclonus’ shoulder to push himself up a bit.  Cyclonus just climbed right onto the berth behind him to help prop Whirl up so he didn’t have to overexert himself.  “Thanks, honey, you’re sweet.”

“Hush,” Cyclonus said, rubbing at Whirl’s neck.  “I’ve got you.  We’ve got you.”  Tailgate had decided he couldn’t stand there any longer and had zipped to the berthside to hold Whirl’s claw instead.

“You’ve got a bitlet crowning,” First Aid told them.

“Go ahead and push, Whirl,” Ratchet encouraged him.  So Whirl pushed.

It was easy and there wasn’t any screaming involved.  Only a few minutes, a few back-and-forths of pushing and resting and then pushing again.

Tailgate only left Whirl’s side long enough to catch the first sparkling in his arm and deliver her straight into Whirl’s arms in time to catch the second.  Two little femmes nestled in the crook of either of Whirl’s arms.

“They’re fliers, huh?” Tailgate said as he wiggled up onto the berth too.  Ratchet and First Aid were doing some something down there at the other end with Whirl’s parts but Whirl absolutely was not paying a speck of attention.  He looked down at his squalling little creations and there was something stupid and wonderful kicking around in his spark.

“They have beautiful faces,” was all he said.  “Their hands are so tiny….”

And he counted their fingers one by one as Cyclonus and Tailgate kissed him and hugged him and told him he did a good job and told him they loved him.

“Best goddamn day of my stupid life,” Whirl muttered.  He couldn’t kiss his sparklings but he still tried.  He reached with his field and this time, they knew how to reach back. 

* * *

Whirl stayed in the medbay for a few days and Tailgate and Cyclonus didn’t even bother leaving him.  They took turns watching over Collet and Chrona, feeding them, talking to them, keeping them close.  Cyclonus in particular had a habit of never letting the girls out of his arms if no one was bothering to hold them. 

Tailgate was mostly just obsessed with their little winglets.

“The tiniest….”

“They’re gonna be bigger than you some day,” Whirl told him.

“Yeah, well, for now they’re itty-bitty babies and I will carry them around until I can’t anymore.”

“Then they’ll just carry you.  Fly around with you in their arms.”

“That sounds like fun, actually,” Tailgate giggled.

“Her optics are open,” Cyclonus announced, very gently, as he approached the berth with the sparklings in his arms.  Chrona was still asleep but Cyclonus passed Collet to Whirl’s arms.  Blinking slowly back up at him were a pair of radiant golden optics.

“She got those from you, huh?” Tailgate said, leaning in to nuzzle the baby, and getting a tiny hand papped against his face.

“She sure did,” Whirl said.  He cradled his little one close and somehow his claws were just gentle enough to stroke her gently back into sleep.


End file.
